by Jason Fry
“Mr. Grigsby, one of the bandits is the Kerensky,” Carlo said. “We have some of her crewers belowdecks. What’s their status?”
“They’ve given parole, Master Carlo. I trust them to honor that and not interfere. They’ve been sent to the wardroom to assist Mr. Leffingwell if needed.”
“Privateers, hold your positions and stay with your freighters,” Andrade said. “Don’t let them split us up.”
“Gracieux’s hanging back,” Yana said. “Other three are closing to combat range.”
“Mr. Grigsby, no blaster cannons,” Carlo said. “Missiles only.”
Mavry turned to Carlo.
“If you fire missiles within the convoy and one of those Earth ships breaks the missile lock—” he began, but Diocletia held up her hand, silencing him.
“Carlo’s starship,” she said.
“Mr. Grigsby?” Carlo said into his headset. “Belay that last order and hold your fire.”
“Here they come,” Yana warned.
The three Earth frigates swooped out of the tumbling rock to port of the lumbering convoy, moving perpendicularly to the freighters. Tycho leaned forward in his seat as a bat-winged frigate—sensors painted it as the Loire—passed between the hoys and the dromond, waggling its wings but not firing.
“Arrogant Earth dogs!” roared Huff.
The middle hoy broke to starboard, forcing its neighbor to pull up.
“Back in formation!” Tycho yelled into the microphone.
“They’re coming around for another pass,” Morgan Theo warned over the shared channel.
“The Gracieux’s paralleling us, screened by the asteroids,” Yana warned. “She’s creeping toward the head of the column.”
This time the Loire didn’t pass through the convoy but turned her nose and joined it, flying just below the dromond’s engine wash. The hoys’ pilots screamed for the Comet to fire. Carlo’s knuckles were white around the control yoke.
“Earth-flagged starships, this is a Jovian merchant convoy,” Captain Andrade said. “Your current maneuvers violate sections sixty-four through sixty-six of the interplanetary commercial code. If you do not immediately move outside the legally mandated hundred-kilometer navigational buffer, your actions shall be treated as hostile.”
“Garibalda’s playing it by the book,” Mavry said. “Let’s see what they do.”
“Arrr, what’s on the starboard scopes?” Huff asked, peering at Yana’s board.
“So far I have nothing—just the bandits that came in from portside.”
“So far,” Huff rumbled.
Ahead of them, the Berserker had dropped back to fly alongside the Resolution, keeping pace with the Earth warship. Tycho knew the two ships’ gun crews were at their stations, waiting for the order to fire.
“Are they going to try to take the convoy?” Vass asked.
“They don’t have enough ships,” Tycho said. “It’s probably just harassment—they’re hoping to provoke us. Don’t you think so, Grandfather?”
“Arrr, depends if there are more of ’em to starboard. If I was Allamand, I’d look to cause chaos, then cut out a hoy or two to steal.”
Ahead of the Comet, the Loire cut her speed, dropping back behind the dromond and forcing the trio of hoys to break formation.
“And how would you do that?” Vass asked Huff warily. “Cut out a hoy, I mean?”
Huff inclined his chin toward the main screen. “By doin’ what they’re doin’.”
“Carlo—” Mavry began.
“I see it!”
The Marcus and the Camden nearly collided, while the Hambrook broke to starboard, her nose veering from side to side in the dromond’s engine wash. The pilots were all hollering at the same time, their voices drowning each other out.
“Tycho, tell them to hold their positions!” Carlo said.
“They can’t! Not with that bandit running them off course!”
The Loire raised her nose and accelerated through the dromond’s wash, with the Kerensky flying alongside her. The two Earth frigates shot past the Resolution and Morgan Theo’s Berserker, heading for the Izabella’s position at the front of the convoy.
“Captain Andrade, you have bandits inbound,” Yana said.
“I see them, Comet,” Andrade said. “Maintain your position.”
“The Gracieux’s on the move off to port, behind the asteroids,” Yana warned. “She’s accelerating toward the front of the convoy.”
“It’ll be three against one,” Carlo said. “We have to help the Izabella.”
All eyes turned to Diocletia—but she kept staring straight ahead, out at the blue blazes of the convoy’s engines. Carlo was on his own.
The Loire and the Kerensky took up positions on either side of the Izabella as the three ships raced through the asteroid corridor at the front of the freighter convoy.
“Range between the Gracieux and the Izabella?” Carlo asked.
“Estimate eight hundred klicks and closing,” Yana said. “Sensor contact is unreliable with all this junk floating around out here.”
“Earth warships, disengage immediately or you will be treated as hostiles,” Captain Andrade said. “Berserker, Comet, prepare to detach tanks on my order.”
The bells clang-clanged—it was 1700.
“All Jovian craft detach tanks,” Andrade said, her words going out not just to her fellow privateers but to the freighters and the Earth craft menacing them. “Respond to hostile actions accordingly.”
“You heard her, Vesuvia,” Carlo said. “Detach.”
“Acknowledged.”
A clank sounded above their heads and the Comet shook slightly as Vesuvia decoupled and retracted the fuel lines connecting the frigate to her long-range fuel tanks, then demagnetized the grapples.
Carlo rolled the Comet to port and then back to starboard, checking that she was maneuvering properly.
Tycho stared at the symbols on the main screen. If the Earth ships were going to break off, they’d most likely do so now—freed of their tanks, the Jovian privateers could match their maneuverability.
But the intruders maintained their positions.
“We’re all burning fuel fast now,” Mavry said. “Whatever their play is, they’ll have to make it soon.”
“Yana, what’s the Gracieux doing?” Carlo asked.
“Still closing on the Izabella. Two hundred klicks.”
“And what else do you see on the scopes?”
“Only thing to port is the Gracieux. I have no readings to starboard.”
Carlo stared at the main screen for a long moment. Tycho understood his brother’s dilemma. The convoy was undefended to starboard—yet the Izabella was badly outgunned ahead of them.
“I’m going after the Gracieux,” Carlo declared, swinging the Comet up and out of her place behind the convoy. “Tyke, tell the hoys to tuck in between the two bulk freighters and sit tight. Yana, eyes peeled.”
“Acknowledged,” Tycho said.
Carlo banked the Comet between a pair of tumbling rocks, then cut hard to the right to avoid a scree of ice, accelerating hard enough to press them back into their seats. Behind him, Tycho heard a yelp and a series of thuds.
“What was that?” Diocletia demanded.
“Yer pet spy fell down the ladderwell,” Huff rumbled.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
Wherever Vass had ended up, things weren’t getting any easier for him—Tycho’s stomach lurched as the Comet dipped below a slab of ancient black rock, then rolled over onto her port wing.
“Comet, return to your position,” Captain Andrade said. “We’ve got all we can handle over here.”
“It’s time Captain Allamand learned that we won’t be pushed around,” Carlo replied. “And I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
“Seven hundred klicks and closing between us and the Gracieux,” Yana said. “She’s still paralleling the Izabella and the other two Earth ships.”
“Let me know when she sees us coming,”
Carlo said, slapping at his comm controls. “Mr. Grigsby, we are closing on a bandit. Hold your fire, though—for now we’re just trying to run her off.”
“Got it, Master Hashoone.”
“Five hundred klicks,” Yana said. “The Gracieux’s breaking to port. Heading deeper into the asteroid field.”
“Pursuing,” Carlo said.
“The hoys’ captains are demanding that we return,” Tycho said.
“They’ll be fine—all the action’s up at the front of the convoy,” Carlo said. “Vesuvia, give me more power. Don’t sweat the fuel efficiency—I need to catch that bandit.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Gracieux’s still running,” Yana said. “But we’re faster than she is—distance four hundred klicks.”
“And we’ve got a better pilot,” Carlo said, sending the Comet into a barrel roll to duck a scattering of rock.
“Three hundred klicks,” Yana said. “Gracieux is turning to heading two-seven-niner.”
Carlo banked to port, altering the Comet’s course with a casual grace that Tycho envied.
“Two hundred klicks,” Yana said. “We should have a visual soon.”
As the distance between the two ships shrank, Tycho alternated glances between the sensor scope and the chunks of rock and ice filling the main screen.
“Comet!” yelled Captain Andrade. “We are under attack!”
Carlo looked up in shock. “What?”
“The Loire and the Kerensky have opened fire on the Izabella,” Yana said, fingers drumming on her keyboard. “The Resolution and the Berserker are exchanging fire as well.”
“Range to the Gracieux?” Carlo demanded.
“One hundred fifty klicks,” Yana said. “She’s maintaining the same heading.”
“Which is takin’ us away from the fight,” Huff muttered.
Carlo turned to look at his mother. Suddenly all the hoy pilots were yelling at once over Tycho’s channels.
“Marcus, say again,” Tycho said, trying to make sense of the cacophony. “Convoy is reporting multiple sensor contacts,” he told the rest of his family.
“Contacts from where?” Carlo asked, diving under a trio of boulders.
“I have no reading,” Yana said. “We’re too far away.”
“Pilots say they came from starboard,” Tycho said. “Multiple small attack craft.”
Carlo brought one fist down on his console.
“Do you need me to take back command?” Diocletia asked him.
Carlo looked at his mother, his face gone pale, and Tycho felt sorry for his brother—even though the mistakes he’d made would benefit Tycho in the Log. Could he really say he wouldn’t have tried to hunt down the Gracieux, as Carlo had done?
“I’m fine, Captain,” Carlo said, yanking back on the control yoke and cutting hard to starboard. “We’re on our way, Izabella.”
“Look out!” Mavry yelled.
A pillar of rock loomed ahead of the frigate, a dark shape against the stars. Carlo tried to dodge beneath it, but the Hashoones bounced in their harnesses and a sound like the blow from a giant hammer left the hull ringing. The Comet shuddered with a low groan of distressed metal, followed by the hooting of alarms.
“Impact,” Vesuvia said. “Dorsal hull, port side.”
“Damage report?” Mavry asked.
“Initiating assessment,” Vesuvia said.
“We’re fine, we’re fine,” Carlo said, racing through the rocky field as the Comet continued to vibrate alarmingly around them.
“Damage to dorsal armor plating,” Vesuvia said. “Hull integrity reduced to sixty-four percent over a three-meter area. Partial damage to sensor suite.”
“Rerouting sensor feeds,” Yana said.
Tycho contacted the convoy. “Jovian craft, we’re on our way. Report your status. If you have been boarded by hostiles and are unable to communicate, signal that by double-clicking your microphones.”
The frantic pilots began talking all at once in his headset. As Tycho checked each ship off in turn, steps sounded on the ladderwell. Vass ascended carefully, looking sheepish. Someone belowdecks had found a harness for him.
“I’m securing myself,” he said hastily.
He was just in time—a moment later Carlo turned the Comet on its starboard wing, pushing the engines as hard as they could go. The vibration above their heads made Tycho’s teeth clack together.
“We are inbound and hot, Izabella,” Carlo said. “Send us targeting data.”
“Too busy,” Captain Andrade said brusquely, and they could hear her bridge crew barking out orders.
“Do you need assistance?” Carlo asked uncertainly. Yana smirked at Tycho, who knew what she was thinking. Of course the Jovian privateers needed assistance—they’d needed it most while the Comet was engaged in her fruitless pursuit of the Gracieux.
“They’re not shooting to kill—just keeping us pinned down here,” Andrade said angrily. “Protect the convoy, Comet.”
“Will do, Izabella,” Carlo said, angling farther to starboard. “Yana, what do you have on sensors?”
“Collating partial data. That scrape severed the portside data leads.”
“We’ll have to eyeball it, then.”
“Comet, this is Captain Cromer of the Nestor Leviathan,” a calm voice said in Tycho’s ear. “We have multiple boarding parties entering our vessel.”
“Acknowledged,” Tycho said “How many craft are boarding, Captain?”
Carlo heard his brother’s question and turned as the bells clanged three times.
“What ship are they attacking, Tyke? One of the bulk freighters? Or the hoys?”
“None of them. They’re boarding the dromond.”
Yana’s eyes went wide.
“O-ho,” said Mavry.
“Arrr,” Huff said. “He’s a bold one, this Captain Allamand.”
They could see the battle ahead of them now, amid the whirling asteroids of the Cybeles. At the front of the column of freighters, bright flashes of light surrounded the Izabella, the Berserker, and the Earth ships tormenting them.
“At least the Leviathan will have onboard security to repel boarders,” Carlo said.
“Not enough of it,” Vass said. “Most freight lines have reduced shipboard security to a minimum—there’s too much worry about accidentally hiring Ice Wolves. That’s why we instituted the convoy system.”
“Terrific,” Carlo said. “Yana, get me a scan of the Leviathan—and look for any other Jovian craft with hostiles attached. Tycho, give me updates from any of the captains. Mr. Grigsby, prepare boarding parties—the Leviathan is under attack by Earth boarders.”
“Aye, Master Hashoone,” Grigsby said, and a moment later the bosun’s whistle shrilled below.
“Captain Cromer, we are inbound with boarding parties ready,” Tycho said.
“You’re a little late, Comet. They’re all over the ship—we’re trying to hold the bridge.”
“Then we’ll catch them in a crossfire,” Tycho said with forced bravado.
They could see the huge shape of the Nestor Leviathan now—and tiny bright lights surrounding it. Several of those bright lights streaked toward the Comet.
“Attack craft inbound—they profile as pinnaces,” Yana said.
“Mr. Grigsby, fire at will,” Carlo said.
All heard the sharp report of the Comet’s bow chasers as Grigsby’s crews began firing at the Earth pinnaces. One vanished in a ball of flame, and cheers rang out belowdecks.
“That’s one who wishes he’d stayed home,” Yana growled.
“And an Earth ship destroyed by Jovian fire,” Vass said quietly. “We may all wish we’d stayed home, before this is over.”
The pinnaces zipped past the Comet on either side. Her port and starboard guns roared out, shaking the frigate. Other pinnaces lay between the Comet and the bulk of the Leviathan, which still barreled along beneath her long-range tanks.
“Yana, let me know where we can dock,” Carlo s
aid, studying the huge ship.
“Nowhere,” Yana said.
“What do you mean, nowhere?”
“The Leviathan has four freight docking rings and four airlocks. Scan shows enemy craft attached to all of them.”
“We’ll have to burn our way in, then,” Carlo said grimly. “Mr. Grigsby—”
“Wait,” Yana said. “There’s something else. Those aren’t standard pinnaces. Their engines and onboard tanks are oversized.”
“What does that mean?” Carlo asked.
As if in response, the Leviathan began to turn to starboard, and all on the Comet’s quarterdeck saw bright flares emerge from the pinnaces attached to her port side.
Mavry glanced back at Huff. “What was that you said about a fleet of tugs?”
“Arrr, never thought I’d see it,” Huff said, grudging admiration in his voice.
“Captain Cromer,” Tycho said. “What is your situation? Captain Cromer?”
The two hoys that had been flying to starboard of the Leviathan dodged below the massive dromond as she continued to angle away from the convoy.
Diocletia activated her headset.
“My starship,” she said, and Carlo sagged in his seat. “Captain Andrade—”
“We see it, Diocletia,” said the captain of the Izabella. “The other Earth privateers are disengaging and following the Leviathan.”
“What are your orders?”
There was no reply for a moment, and Tycho could picture Captain Andrade studying her scopes, trying to choose among several unhappy options.
“Protect the rest of the convoy and bring it in to Cybele,” Andrade said.
“Mr. Grigsby, defensive fire only,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, tell the remaining ships to close up the line. We’ll guard the rear.”
When the Comet’s guns ceased firing, the Earth pinnaces streaked back the way they’d come, following the dromond.
“Mom, we can still catch the Leviathan,” Carlo pleaded. “Those tugs can’t have enough fuel for long-term operations. If we catch her, and the other privateers form a perimeter . . .”
“No, Carlo. They’ll have other tugs out there—and other privateers, for all we know. Flying blind got us into this mess—let’s not compound the error. Captain Allamand’s won this round.”
12
